


Never Lost Words

by deepestfathoms



Category: The Prom (2020), The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Maternal Instinct, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Motherly Angie Dickinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: To Emma, there was something faintly familiar about one of the actors that randomly barged into her high school.To Angie, there was something very familiar about the little lesbian she was barging into the high school to help.OR:Angie is Emma's biological mom AU
Relationships: Emma Nolan & Angie Dickinson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 88





	1. Bloom and Cry

**Author's Note:**

> you're gonna get secondhand embarrassment from the second scene but i've been watching The Spanish Princess, so try to stay with me, folks

“Well, it’s official! I’m now on maternity leave!”

Dee Dee and Barry both quirked an eyebrow as Angie sat down across from them in the bar, then simultaneously eyed her six month pregnant belly.

“It’s about time,” Dee Dee said. “How badly did they need a pregnant lady in the chorus?”

Angie shrugged. “It adds character to the production. The director thinks it counts as ‘inclusivity.’”

Barry snorted. “That’ll be the day.” He then leaned forward avidly, his eyes practically glowing with intrigue. “Well?”

“Well?” Angie echoed, raising a brow at him.

“Oh, you know!” Barry swatted at her hand. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Angie gently touched her stomach then said, “I’m making you wait.” She grinned devilishly as her friend deflated. “In fairness, I’m waiting, too! I want it to be a surprise.” Her grin turned into a soft smile as she rubbed circled against the bump. “I think it’s a girl, though. And a strong one at that. I keep getting kicked in the damn ribs.”

“Aaand that is why I make Eddie pull out every night,” Dee Dee said as she took a sip from her glass. “Among other things.” She gave Angie a curious look. “How is Liam coping with this?”

Angie groaned and rolled her eyes. “He’s acting like I’m carrying the damn devil, as if HE’S not the reason I’m even pregnant.”

Barry frowned. “Is he still trying to get you to abort it?”

“Yeah,” Angie nodded. “I mean, I wholeheartedly support abortions, but this is  _ my baby.  _ And I wanted to be a mother anyway. I don’t know why he’s acting the way he is.”

Barry and Dee Dee exchanged worried looks.

“You can come stay with me if you want, Angie,” Barry said. “If you don’t feel safe.”

Angie chuckled. “Aww. It’s sweet that you care, but I’ll be alright.”

Of course, when she went home that night, she didn’t tell her friends about how Liam yelled at her and hit her when she once again refused to get rid of the baby.

She didn’t tell them how he stormed out with his belongings.

She didn’t tell them how he didn’t come back.

Stress was bad for the baby, after all. So she tried not to worry about it.

“We’ll be alright, sweetheart,” Angie whispered to her stomach. “We will.”

\---

The soft tune of smooth jazz whisked through the halls of the Hampton House, soothing background noise to the chatter of four actors in the living room. Dee Dee was hosting the little get together, stating that it was an honor to come to her million dollar estate. The other three just rolled their eyes in a good natured way.

The evening rolled into night rather quickly as their conversations continued. The orange-red flames in the fireplace crackled. The stars twinkled outside. Angie thought she felt a cramp in her stomach, but shrugged it off as nothing.

“Dee Dee, darling, you know I love you,” Barry said, “but Romeo and Juliet is a classic and a masterpiece.”

“What are you? A high school freshman?” Dee Dee snorted, swishing the wine glass she was holding. “Nobody likes Romeo and Juliet anymore.”

“I do!”

“And I didn’t know anyone who actually enjoyed Romeo and Juliet aside from theatre kids.” Angie joined in. “Besides, everyone knows Othello is the best play you were forced to read.”

“I have to disagree,” Trent spoke up. “The Merchant of Venice is the best.”

“Where’d you read that? Juilliard?” Barry snorted.

“No,” Trent snapped, ruffled by the comment, “I read Hamlet in Juilliard.” And then he added softly, “I’ll be the one saying MacBeth during your next performance and we’ll see how you like it.”

Dee Dee, who had heard him, perked up a little and laughed. “You really believe that myth?” She said. “Nothing bad happens if you say MacBeth in a theatre!”

She watched in amusement as Barry and Trent lurched downward to knock on the polished wooden floors.

“Good grief.” She rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Not a myth. It’s the truth.” Barry said.

“I knew a girl who was in this one performance and someone said ‘MacBeth’ as a joke and then a light fell in the middle of act two.” Trent said, leaning back into the couch. Barry pointed to him, nodding.

“It was a coincidence.” Dee Dee said.

“Hey, Angie, are you alright?”

Dee Dee and Barry both turned to look at Angie and instantly became concerned when they realized why Trent had called out.

Sweat was beading on Angie’s brow, running in thick trails down her face, which was contorted in very obvious pain. She had her jaw clenched like she was attempting to bite back a scream, but it only further highlighted her discomfort. One hand was clutching at her stomach, while the other had its nails dug into the couch cushion. 

“Angie?” Barry called out worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Angie said through her teeth. She shakily rose to her feet, and Barry lunged out to steady her, and they all saw the fluids dripping down her legs.

“Oh god,” She whispered.

The Hampton House exploded into pandemonium.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Barry shouted while guiding Angie to the kitchen.

“Why are you going to the kitchen?!” Trent yelped. “You aren’t going to cut the baby out, are you?”

“What? No!” Barry said. “Angie needs to lean on something and the island is stable enough to do so.” 

“Lean on? Shouldn’t she be laying down?”

“No, Trent,” Dee Dee snapped as she was dialing 911. “Women are supposed to give birth standing up!”

“They only don’t because some king thought it was hot to watch the baby come out so now women have to lay down.” Barry said.

“Everyone knows that!”

“I didn’t!!” Trent squawked.

Angie screamed in pain. 

Barry rubbed her back comfortingly. “It’s going to be alright, Angie. Just breathe.”

“Yeah, try to hold it in until help comes!” Trent added.

Angie gave him a look through the torrent of sweat pouring down her face. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Trent.” Her words then morphed into a moan of agony. “I’m still two months early.”

“The baby seems to have other plans, darling,” Barry said gently.

“I can see that.” Angie grit. “Thank you as well, Barry.” As another contraction came over her, she slammed her clenched fist onto the marble countertop and screamed through her clenched teeth. “Oh my god--”

“It’s not blood,” Barry said. “So it’s not a miscarriage. Just a premature birth.” He rubbed her lower back. “Your baby is just really eager to meet you, that’s all!”

“I hope you’re right,” Angie panted.

And he was.

After one and a half hours of pain and pushing, a premature, impossibly tiny baby girl was finally born.

“Can we come in?” Barry asked, peeking his head into Angie’s hospital room. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

Angie gave a weak laugh. “Yeah. Come in.”

The other three actors all bustled inside, wide-eyeing the little pink bundle in Angie’s arms.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Angie,” Barry said, his eyes glowing. Though, that may have been because of the tears.

“She’s a person!” Trent exclaimed in joy.

“Looks like you were right, Angie,” Dee Dee said, leaning against the bed. 

“Never doubt me,” Angie flashed her a smile, despite her exhaustion. “Would you like to hold her?”

Dee Dee’s eyes widened. “Oh, uhh--”

“Come on, Dee Dee!” Barry encouraged.

“Yeah, hold the baby!” Trent added.

“Oh alright.” Dee Dee said, and allowed Angie to set the baby in her arms. 

Dee Dee stared down at the tiny baby with wide eyes. She tried her best to not move, probably thinking that the infant may die if she so much as coughed wrong. The infant, however, didn’t get the memo because she began to stir and, a moment later, she opened her honey brown eyes to blink up at Dee Dee.

“Hello,” Dee Dee whispered, and the baby began to cry. She flinched at the piercing noise. “O-kay. I’m done here. Barry, stop laughing! You take her!”

Barry eagerly scooped the baby up as Trent and Angie continued to laugh.

“Look at you,” Barry cooed, bouncing the child in his arms. “She looks like you, Angie.”

“You think so?”

Barry smiled. “Definitely.” He soon passed the child back to her mother. 

“What’s her name?” Trent asked.

Angie gazed down at her daughter and said, “Emery.”

\---

“BOO BAH!!” Emery shouted enthusiastically, throwing a stuffed seal onto the ground. 

Trent peered over at the one year old in her playpen. “Still no words?”

Angie shook her head. “Not yet. But she LOVES making noises! I think she’s going to be a singer when she gets older.”

“TEE!” Emery agreed gleefully. 

“What about Liam?” Dee Dee asked. “Hear anything of him?”

Angie wrinkled her nose. “No. And thank god, too. I don’t want him anywhere near my daughter. I don’t care if she’s his.”

But Liam apparently did.

Because, six days later, the Dickinson house was broken into. Baby Emery was stolen from her crib. And by the time Angie went to get her the next morning, her precious little daughter was already long gone.

She never did get to hear Emery’s first words.

But Liam did.

Because as he was driving the toddler far away, she whimpered, “Mama?”


	2. Hello, Again

“You’re telling me some slimy old men are forcing us to hold a prom?”

Mrs. Greene’s shrill voice caused Emma to jump. She shifted, hunching her shoulders in to try and make herself seem smaller. But even then, even in the crowd of other students, she still felt so exposed. Perhaps that was because they were all looking at her like she had just killed all their pet dogs.

“It was canceled for a reason. Our rules were broken.”

“Those ‘slimy old men’ are the State Attorney, Mrs. Greene.” Mr. Hawkins said. He was trying to calm everything down, but he was much too timid for the job. Mrs. Green was practically walking all over him. “Their own rules have been in place much longer than the school’s have. And they want us to hold an inclusive prom. That’s what they think best represents the unity between the people.”

“My son will not be forced to attend a homosexual prom.” One father growled.

“It’s not a homosexual prom, it’s an inclusive prom.” Mr. Hawkins corrected. “And you don’t have to attend if you don’t want to.”

“Will there be homosexuals at this prom?” One mother asked.

“Probably.”

Yelling and growling filled the gym as angry parents snapped at Mr. Hawkins. Emma sunk down lower to try and hide, wrapping her arms around herself like she was attempting to comfort herself.

Not like anyone ever did that for her.

One hand slithered up through her hair and rubbed her pounding temples, willing her headache from the PTA meeting to go away. Or, perhaps, she was trying to silence old voices of city kids that were still ringing in her ears, even after all these years. 

_ “No one wants you!”  _ They had shouted. One of the older boys grabbed the ball she had been playing with a moment prior and aimed at her face with more force than necessary. He hit, and Emma stumbled, landing on her back.

Her eyes were watering in the memory as she hiccuped, looking at the by-standing adults pleadingly but they just averted their gaze as though none of them had seen or, even worse, sneered at her. They always did that and Emma felt shattered and angry every time they did.

Because she didn’t know why.

But the older kids hadn’t had enough and the biggest of them, a pudgy boy with slanted eyes, had towered over her while prodding her hard in her chest with one of his fingers.

_ “Even your real parents didn’t want you! That’s why you’re all alone. They left you because you’re so stupid! There must be something  _ really wrong with you _!” _

The boy’s friends behind him had broken out into cackling laughter.

Everyone knew that. Everyone knew how the Nolan girl really wasn’t a Nolan at all, that her parents just picked her up like she was a stray kitten in a kill shelter and they only kept her around for brownie points with the town. But they quickly realized their mistake of taking in a child that wasn’t theirs. Perhaps that was why she turned out the way she did. 

In that moment something had been ignited inside of her heart. It made her feel like crying even more, like shouting out loud, like kicking this mean kid that was making fun of her and telling her things that weren’t true.

_ “You’re lying!”  _ She had screeched while throwing herself onto the boy, pounding her little fists on the soft and flabby stomach beneath her,  _ “My mommy and daddy will come back soon, they just went away, but they will be back!!” _

She had always told herself that; that her mommy and daddy were just away and very busy with adult stuff and that they had been on a job ever since she could remember. It had to be this way. Parents liked their kids so the only reason why she was staying in a home that wasn’t her own had to be because her real parents had to work.

Why else would they not be here when she was feeling so sad? Thick tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered how that kid’s mother had roughly shoved her away from her boy, telling her to get away from him.

She had dusted the meany off, taken him and his friends by the hands and gone away, fussing over him like he had been badly hurt. Emma had sat on the sandy ground of the playground for a moment longer, searching the wire-fence for someone she hoped would be there to greet her and tell her that everything was alright and that they would later punish that boy.

But as she kept looking and finding nothing but hard eyes scrutinizing her, she felt her lower lip tremble. Slowly, she got up on her own, dusted herself off, and looked for her green ball.

But it was gone- one of the kids had already taken it. No one had protested or told him not to take someone else’s property away.

She had not wanted to cry in front of those people, so she turned around and sprinted away from the playground and back to her house. When she burst through the front door, the memory disappeared and Emma was left in the present, surrounded by people who hated her as much as those kids had.

And someone was calling out to her.

“...Emma...Emma...Emma?” 

She blinked, and tears were stinging her eyes. Mr. Hawkins was looking at her with a concerned expression, surely seeing the brimming droplets, while Mrs. Greene’s stare was still filled with so much hate.

“H-huh?” Emma squeaked.

“I asked what this is all about,” Mr. Hawkins told her gently. He tilted his head at her. “Are you alright?”

Emma sniffled and scrubbed her face with her sleeve. “Y-yeah,” She said, cursing herself for letting her emotions overflow like that. “Umm-- I-I just wanted to go to my prom like everyone else.”

“But you can’t,” Mr. Hawkins sighed. “Because some of the people in this room are…homophobic.”

The yelling started again. Emma wanted to cover her ears and disappear forever. 

That kid from way back then had been right.

Nobody seemed to like her. Or want her.

Where were her mommy and daddy? Why hadn’t they come back? Why did they give her away? Her adoptive parents never told her anything about their whereabouts- looking back on it, they probably didn’t know either. But since everyone needed a mother and a father, Emma had just thought that she had real ones, too, and mothers and fathers liked their children. That was why, back then, she never even bothered to think that maybe her parents- both real and adoptive- didn’t like her and didn’t want to spend time with her on purpose.

She sniffled a bit too loudly and the kid sitting next to her inched away with a disgusted expression. If that was true…

But…no, that couldn’t be true! Parents liked their children! When she was little, even now, she saw it every day on the streets, near the river, at the mall. She had seen everywhere that moms and dads would greet the older children when they came home from jobs, so it wasn’t like age was a problem. When those other children fell and scraped their knees, they would come and pat them on the head and tell them it was okay.

But where were her mother and father?

Why did they not come get her in all the time she had been waiting? She had been a good girl and had waited patiently. She never complained. She even tried to put away all her stuff because that was what other kids were supposed to do at home! Parents liked that.

So why did they not come home?

Was it really her fault? Did her birth parents really hate her like everyone else seemed to?

She focused her stinging eyes on Mr. Hawkins. He was trying really hard to make things right for her. Maybe he was her real dad!

God… How desperate was she? She thought she had grown out of this constant scavenger hunt for her birth parents, but it seemed she was wrong because she was still searching.

Just then, there was a huge commotion as three people with picket signs burst into the gym. Two of them were men, while the other was a woman with long legs and blonde hair. They were yelling something about shame and how what everyone was doing was wrong, and her heart sank when she realized what exactly they were referring to.

“Where’s that lesbian kid?” The shorter of the two men suddenly shouted, halting the process of berating the entire room.

Emma tried to hide, but the kid sitting behind her shoved her off of the bleacher, making her stumble and nearly trample the students in front of her. She now stood rigid in front of everyone, rubbing her palms against her thighs. The man lit up when he saw her and bounded forward, shaking her hand with both of his own.

“Oh, you are absolutely adorable!” He cooed, “I’m Barry. What’s your name?”

“Emma,” Emma said, stuttering a little.

“Well, Emma, we--” The man, Barry, waved an arm at his two friends, “--have come all the way from New York to save you!”

Mr. Hawkins tried to interfere, but that just made the strangers start shaming him and everyone else in the room. Mrs. Greene began to squawk over them, demanding an explanation in her shrill voice, all while the other parents and students caused an even larger ruckus.

And, in the midst of all of that, the blonde woman stared at Emma with wide eyes.

Emma blinked back at the woman, confused. Why was she looking at her like that? Did she not know lesbians exist or something?

“We have come to pry open your tiny little lives!” Barry had been saying when Emma focused back on the mayhem. “You see the four of us--” He paused and looked around. “Where the hell is Dee Dee?”

With impeccable comic timing, a very pompous-looking woman barged into the gym. She took control of Mrs. Greene’s podium and began berating everyone with needle-sharp, barbed words, barking harsh statements and icy callouts. When she glared at Emma, Barry grabbed her pointing, accusatory arm and lowered it, explaining that “that was the little lesbian we’re here to help.”

Dee Dee peered at Emma. “Oh. Really? She’s…tiny.” She looked over at her blonde friend, “Are you sure she’s sixteen?”

The blonde woman stammered, seemingly caught on her own words, then said, “That’s what the article said.

Laughter filled the gym, but died down abruptly when Dee Dee began yelling again. Even the adults stood still until they were all finally able to scatter out of the room. Emma got trampled slightly when she was leaving, trying to avoid the four strangers. She thought she could feel the blonde woman’s eyes trailing after her as she fled.

But it wasn’t just her eyes.

Emma yelped as the blonde woman came jogging after her like a gazelle with violence on its mind. She thought for sure she was about to get kicked to death as some sort of hate crime, but then the woman skidded to a halt in front of her before she could die like Mufasa in The Lion King. She looked up and realized just how tall this lady was.

“Umm--” Emma inched backwards, twisting her fingers in her shirt. “H-hi?”

“Hi,” The woman replied. Her own hands were twitching like she wanted to reach out and grab her. “I’m sorry about my friends. They can be a little…eccentric…at times.” 

Emma squinted at the fleeting figure of Barry yelling at a mother and daughter. “Is that what you call it?”

The woman laughed. “I swear we have good intentions by being here.” She went quiet for a moment, gaze softening, and Emma could feel her green eyes raking over her, analyzing every inch of her. “I-- My name is Angie Dickinson.”

“Emma,” Emma said cautiously. “Emma Nolan.”

“Emma,” Angie whispered to herself before nodding. “Right. Well. I have to catch up with the others. I hope we didn’t scare you too much, sweetie. And--I hope we can make things better for you.”

She gave Emma a smile that seemed more sincere and warm than any smile her adoptive parents ever gave her.

“Y-yeah,” Emma said as she watched Angie quickly walk down the hallway. “Bye…”

Weird. Why did she suddenly feel so cold and…lonely? 


	3. Everything I Ever Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie finally spills the truth.

_ It’s her. _

_ It’s not her. _

_ It’s her. _

_ It’s not her. _

These two thoughts warred inside of Angie’s head as they drove to the motel they were staying at for the trip. She was too distracted to even get mad at the fact that Day By Day was being played on repeat.

That girl… It had to be her. Her name was different, yes, but she was the right age and Angie just had this  _ feeling.  _

That was her daughter. It just had to be.

Even as they got checked into a scummy hotel and Sheldon appeared to tell them about a monster truck rally, Angie couldn’t stop thinking about Emma. It got so bad that she had to excuse herself and step outside to be alone, but even then her mind raged on. 

When Dee Dee came outside, slamming the front door behind her, Angie just about jumped out of her skin.

“WHAT?! What?!” Angie cried.

Dee Dee leapt back. “I haven’t even said anything yet!” She squawked. She settled herself and peered at Angie curiously. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Angie looked Dee Dee up and down, then sighed heavily. She dropped her arms limply to her side and her shoulders drooped. She must have looked absolutely distraught.

“Hey,” Dee Dee softened her tone. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Emma is my daughter.” Angie blurted to her.

Dee Dee blinked at her, then started laughing. “You’re funny, Angie!”

Angie didn’t laugh.

Dee Dee blinked again, eyes widening. “You’re not funny. You’re  _ not joking _ ?!”

“No, I’m not joking!” Angie barked. “Why would I joke about this?”

Dee Dee made a very scrambled shrugging motion. “I don’t know! To cope!” She released a breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “Angie, this-- You can’t just make claims like this. I know you’re still hurting about losing your daughter, but you don’t know for sure that’s her. Their names aren’t even the same!”

“Then someone must have changed it!” Angie said. “Dee Dee, you never had kids, so you don’t know what this feeling is like, but  _ I do.  _ And I know that’s my daughter.”

Dee Dee just looked at her for a moment before sighing. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“Talk to her, obviously,” Angie said. “And then take her back into my care.”

“You can do that?” Dee Dee blinked.

“Of course I can! I’m her mother!”

“But if you take a kid away from her family aren’t you no better than--”

Angie rounded on Dee Dee, her eyes smoldering like lit coals. “ _ Don’t say it. _ ” She hissed. “She is  _ my daughter.  _ Not whoever took her up afterwards.”

She turned and marched back inside. Barry, Trent, and Sheldon looked concerned when they saw the conflicted expression on her face, but knew she wasn’t in the best of moods, so they didn’t approach her. Thank god, too, because she might have bitten their heads off.

Angie stayed in her motel room until it was time for the rally. Surprisingly, it helped her blow off some steam, despite how awful it actually was. It got her mind off of the thought of her missing daughter, but then it all came rushing back afterwards when Emma and the principal of the high school appeared at the motel to share some good news with them.

Angie couldn’t focus on what Mr. Hawkins was saying about the prom. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Emma fidgeting at his side.

She was beautiful. So beautiful. Her facial features were soft and she had the eyes of a timid fawn. Her auburn hair was very fluffy, and Angie had the irresistible urge to comb it down. When Emma met her gaze, she gave a shy smile, and Angie’s heart fluttered.

She was perfect.

* * *

Time passed in a blur. So many things happened in just a few weeks. The prom turned out to be fake and Emma was humiliated, then Angie convinced her to tell her story, then Emma and her girlfriend broke up, AND THEN they staged a new prom for everyone. It was chaos, but Angie didn’t care. She was with her daughter--and now she knew for sure it  _ was  _ her daughter--every step of the way. Emma had grown close to her, looking at her like she already knew about their blood relations. She swore Emma was constantly reaching for her hand, but always pulled back at the last second, embarrassed. Oh how Angie wanted to scoop her up in her arms and give her all the affection she clearly needed.

She was going to.

She had to tell her.

A party was thrown at Emma’s grandma’s house the day after the prom. All the actors were invited, as were Alyssa, Mr. Hawkins, even Kaylee and Shelby, to celebrate their success. 

Betsy’s house was soon filled with the smell of hashbrown casserole and baked goods, and the sound of pop music and avid conversations. Trent was barking something about the “music kids listen to these days”, while the four teenagers giggled at him. Angie was watching them with a soft smile, red solo cup in hand, and her heart fluttered when Emma spotted her staring and grinned brightly at her.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

Angie walked over to Betsy. Despite her age, the woman was shrewd and powerful-looking. She arched a brow as Angie asked to talk to her in private, but obliged.

“When is Emma’s birthday?”

Betsy looked at her strangely. She was probably wondering why she was whispering, like this information was topic secret and they were two spies swapping private facts.

“June 23rd, 2004.” Betsy narrowed her eyes at Angie suspiciously. “Why?”

For a moment, Angie couldn’t even answer. Because she wasn’t able to breathe at all.

June 23rd, 2004.

The day her daughter was born.

Beneath her overwhelming maternal feelings, Angie had feared she was all wrong about Emma and was only feeling this way because she missed her baby, but this just proved she was right. There was no way it was just a coincidence. Not anymore.

“I--” The words were caught in Angie’s throat. She wanted to scream in joy and run to Emma, but had to restrain herself. “Just curious. Thank you.”

She then turned and made a beeline for Dee Dee, who she practically tackled as she was talking to Mr. Hawkins.

“Hey! Angie!” Dee Dee yelped, steadying herself.

“Her birthday is the same,” Angie whispered to her.

“What?”

“Emma’s birthday. It’s the same as Emery’s.”

Dee Dee excused herself from a very curious-looking Mr. Hawkins and turned to Angie. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Angie exclaimed, momentarily forgetting to keep her voice down. “It’s her, Dee Dee. I know it is.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to talk to her. I have to.” 

“In private, I assume?”

Angie nodded. “I think I’m gonna take her out--”

“ALRIGHT, EVERYONE!!!” Dee Dee yelled, grabbing everyone’s attention and nearly bursting Angie’s eardrum. “FOLLOW ME!” She flashed a smile at Angie. “Go get your girl.”

A giddy grin came to Angie’s lips. “Thank you.”

Dee Dee dipped her head, then began herding everyone into the downstairs office, much to Betsy’s confusion. However, when Emma tried to follow along, Dee Dee stood in front of her and said, “Nope. Not you.” and then slammed the door in her face.

Angie and Emma were left alone in the living room. Voices and bustling, muffled by the door, sounded worlds away when Angie was with this girl by herself. It felt as though they were the only people on the entire planet.

“Uhh…” Emma blinked, laughing slightly. “Is that a thing you do in New York? Some kind of party game?”

Angie laughed. “Not really. New York is pretty weird, though.” She sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. “Come here, Emma.”

Emma obeyed and sat next to her.

Angie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her throat was suddenly so dry, catching the words she so badly wanted to say like fishhooks. Her heart was racing, thrumming blood in her ears, threatening to burst inside of her chest.

In front of her, Emma looked concerned.

“Miss Dickinson?” The girl called out nervously. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Angie said, giving her a small smile. She cleared her throat. “Emma, honey. When is your birthday?”

Emma furrowed her eyebrows. “June 23rd, 2004.” She tilted her head. “Why?”

Just like when Betsy had said the date, all the air left Angie’s lungs in a whoosh, but this time it hit so much harder. It felt more  _ real _ . 

“Were you adopted?” Angie asked next.

Emma looked even more confused as she slowly said, “Yes…” 

Claws raked down Angie’s insides. Holding herself back from lunging forward and bundling Emma into her arms was an unbearable agony. Her skin itched for the touch of the girl’s.

Shifting, Emma went on, “I jumped around from foster home to foster home for awhile, apparently. Those memories are kinda fuzzy because I was still young. But I don’t know why families kept giving up on me. I don’t know what I was doing wrong.” She looked down, twisting her fingers together in a cute, anxious way. “Then my current family found me and adopted me. But they don’t seem to want me, either. Just like my real parents…”

Angie couldn’t take it anymore- she lunged out and clasped Emma’s hands tightly in her own.

“I never  _ stopped  _ wanting you, Emma.”

This time, it was Emma’s turn to stop breathing. Angie could hear the way her breath hitched and froze, her chest no longer moving in peaceful up and down motions. Her eyes, such a beautiful shade of hazel, flecked with the green of her own eyes and hints of gold, slowly widened as her mouth fell open. Angie could practically  _ see  _ the gears turning in her head.

“I--” Angie’s voice wavered for a moment. “I had a child once. She was the sweetest little thing in the whole entire world. The light of my life. But she was  _ stolen.  _ She was taken away from me and I haven’t seen her since she was a baby.” She took a deep breath, trying to blink away the tears. “I never stopped looking for her.” 

Emma made a choked squeaky noise. Her lips were starting to quiver. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Angie leaned forward and growled fiercely, “I  _ wanted you.  _ I _ always  _ wanted you.  You were the only thing I ever wanted.”

Emma’s doey, tear-filled eyes fixated on her, the trembling hands wrapped in her own- those were the only things that were real in the house. Everything else was blurring and sliding away.

Angie tightened her grip on Emma’s hands. “Emma. I think you’re my daughter.”

Silence.

Not even a peep came from the room all the others were occupying. 

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Nobody said a word.

And then--

“WHAT?!”

“...Shh!!”

“...Trent, shut up!”

Angie glanced only momentarily at the door the others disappeared through, but when she looked back, Emma was crying. Tears fell like streams of melted diamonds down her cheeks, starting slow, then turning into a full torrent, but she didn’t make a sound as this happened. Angie couldn’t hold herself back from reaching out and wiping away one of the trails. Emma leaned into her hand with the hunger of a touch starved kitten seeking warmth, and Angie nearly burst into tears herself.

“You were never this quiet,” Angie chuckled weakly, sniffling.

“Wh-what?” Emma managed to choke out.

“You were always making noises.” Angie told her. “Babbling, cooing, singing… Everything. But you never really cried unless you wanted attention, then you would immediately stop once I picked you up.” She looked into Emma’s eyes again, oh how she missed those sweet eyes. “Emma. You’re my daughter. I know you are.”

Once again, Emma did not answer. Maybe she couldn’t.

Angie stood up and Emma lurched forward, grabbing onto her arm with two desperate hands, making a soft, strangled whine. Her gaze was pleading, begging her to stay, to not leave like everyone else, and Angie nearly fell to her knees from how badly those anxious doe eyes tore her heart.

“I’m only getting my purse, sweetheart,” Angie said, cupping the side of Emma’s head tenderly. Emma leaned into that, too. “I’ll be right back, I promise. I’m not leaving you.”

Emma nodded and begrudgingly released her. Angie flashed a small smile before rushing to get her purse and return back to the couch. She pulled a photograph out from her wallet and passed it to Emma.

“Here.”

The photo was creased from being folded up and the edges were frayed from age, but the captured image stayed true: Angie in a hospital bed, holding a tiny pink bundle in her arms.

On the back a date was written.

June 23rd, 2004

Emma’s tears splattered against the surface of the photo. 

“I looked for you,” Angie said. “I looked for you everywhere, Emma.”

Emma’s mouth opened and closed, but that may have just been because of her quivering lips. She looked up at Angie, tears spilling rapidly down her cheeks, and whimpered out, “Mama?”

Finally, the tears broke free. Angie half sobbed, half laughed as she nodded. “Yes, Emma. Yes, baby girl. It’s me. I’m your mama.”

Emma collapsed into her arms, sobbing into her chest. Angie was breathless for a moment, then gathered her in close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She held Emma tightly, so tightly, determined to not let her slip away again.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Angie murmured to her, rocking Emma gently in her arms. “I’ve got you. Mama’s here.” She kissed her head again. “I’m never going to let you go ever again.”


	4. Additional Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie and Emma go through baby pictures. Angie also gets some news.

“Wait-- you WHAT?”

“I went into labor with you at the Hampton House! Two months early!!”

“Oh damn. I can’t believe Dee Dee gave away the place where I was born for nothing.”

“You technically weren’t born there, but you TRIED to be. Not that I blame you. It was a nice house.”

Angie and Emma both laugh.

Waking up that morning was…incredible. Emma had fallen asleep in Angie’s arms after crying herself into complete exhaustion, and Angie just watched her sleep for hours, a loving expression on her face the entire time. Sometimes Emma would stir and snuggle closer, and Angie’s heart nearly burst from the absolute adoration she felt for this girl. _Her girl._

She had her daughter back.

After waking up in each other’s arms, they instantly got down to business: making up for the fifteen years lost. Angie wanted to know EVERYTHING about her daughter, so they went up to Emma’s room at her grandma’s house to get started.

“For the longest time, you hated when anyone else held you aside from me,” Angie mused. “I swear, this one time I set you in Barry’s arms and you GLARED at him!”

Emma giggled into her hands. “Really?”

“Honest to God!” Angie said. “Trent once also INSISTED on making you baby Jesus in a nativity scene for Christmas. Because he didn’t know how to, and I quote, ‘rent a baby,’ so he wanted to use one he DID know.” She pulled out her phone and clicked on her Photos app, opening an album titled ‘Emery.’ She showed Emma a picture of a tiny baby swaddled in a brown blanket and nestled in a basket full of straw. “I couldn’t say no to that.”

Emma giggled again. Then, her eyebrows furrowed. “Emery?”

“Hm?” Angie glanced at her. “Oh, yeah. That was your name. I looked through a bunch of those dumb baby naming websites when I was pregnant and stumbled upon it. It means ‘brave’ and ‘powerful’ and, well,” She tipped her head at Emma with a loving smile, “I just knew it would fit a little warrior like you.”

Emma blushed, smiling adorably. But then the smile fell and her shoulders drooped. She wrung her hands in her shirt nervously.

“B-but… My name isn’t Emery. It’s Emma. Nobody has ever called me Emery before.” She looked panicked. “What if I’m not your daughter?”

Angie clasped Emma’s hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. “I know you are, Emma. I know it.” She told her firmly. “You are my daughter. I refuse to believe otherwise.”

Emma nodded. “I-- I want to be your daughter, Miss Dickinson. I do. I really, really do.”

A smile came to Angie’s lips and she pulled Emma into a hug. “Thank god you are, then.” She said. She felt Emma nuzzle into her neck and her heart fluttered.

“What’s my middle name?” Emma asked after pulling away.

“Chicago.” Angie said seriously, then grinned. “You’ll never guess why.”

Emma burst into laughter. “I thought for sure it would be Roxie!”

“It almost was! But Emery Roxie didn’t sound good together. Emery Chicago on the other hand…” Angie tittered.

“Emery Chicago Dickinson…” Emma whispered to herself, then blushed bright red. Angie cooed at her.

“You are so cute.”

“Can I see more pictures?” Emma asked shyly.

“Of course!” Angie said eagerly, picking up her phone again. “I saved ALL OF THEM.”

The two of them cycled through the 317 photos in the album, looking at all the pictures and routinely pausing so Angie could tell stories. There were snapshots of Emma when she was just a little baby, in the arms of her mother, who looked so happy; Emma with food all over her chubby little face, an innocent look in her eyes; Emma with the other actors, whether it be chewing on Dee Dee’s clothes or staring with bug eyes at Trent; Emma on Halloween, dressed in a frog costume. Angie paused to share a quick anecdote.

“You LOVED frogs,” She said, laughing to hide the bubbling sobs in her chest. She was beginning to tear up from looking through all the memories, but was doing her best to not break down again. “I don’t know why, but it was adorable. You actually had this stuffed frog and you brought it with you EVERYWHERE. It was the cutest thing.”

They continued through the album: Emma in Barry’s lap, both of them conked out; several photos of Emma being held by Angie; Emma hugging a very annoyed-looking cat; Emma in the theater where Chicago must have been performed, gawking at the brightly lit stage with glowing eyes.

“You tried to sing along to every song,” Angie commented on that certain picture. “Every single time we would sing, you would babble along with us. Or you would wiggle around in your carrier. The other actresses and I would joke that you were practicing your audition for the show.”

And further: Emma sitting in front of a TV, watching a Disney movie; Emma in the park, a flower crown on her head; Emma in a frog onesie, beaming brighter than a thousand suns; Emma in a bright yellow poncho and rain boots; Emma on her first birthday, giggling over a large cake in front of her.

“You threw some of that cake at Dee Dee,” Angie told Emma, grinning. “I’m surprised she didn’t shove your face into it.”

And then, there was a video: Emma, in a kitchen, banging two wooden spoons on some pots and pans while babbling loudly. Angie's voice came from behind the camera, cooing, “Are you making music, Emery?”

And Emma looked up and shrieked a gleeful, “MOO-IC!!!”

Video-Angie laughed loudly and said, “Yes, baby! Music!”

When the video ended, Angie and Emma just sat in silence for a moment, looking at the halted screen. Then, Angie sniffled.

“That was the last video I ever got of you,” The woman whispered. Her voice was anguished, but there was also anger beneath it, hot and smoldering. “Before you were--” She clenched her fists and grit her teeth, trying to hold back all the emotions.

“Miss Dickinson?” Emma set a hand on Angie’s leg, looking up with big hazel eyes. “What happened to me?”

“You were _stolen_ .” Angie snarled, and the blistering rage in her voice made Emma flinch back. “My boyfriend--your _father_ \-- _took you from me._ He came in during the night and _stole you._ ” She shook her head, furiously blinking back tears. “I looked for you everywhere, Emma. I did. I never stopped looking.”

“So, my father-- He--”

“Yes.” Angie growled. “He did. It was him.”

Emma looked down with a troubled expression. “So I could have been raised by you instead of-- If he hadn’t-- I--” 

Angie wrapped an arm around Emma and pulled her against her securely. “Yes.” She said, this time more saddened. “But you’re here now. I’m not going to let you go again, Emma. Never again.”

Emma rested her head against Angie’s shoulder and nodded. “I’m glad,” She whispered.

Angie could tell there was something else wrong. Something about Emma’s words worried her. 

“Tell me about your childhood, Emma,” Angie said, hoping to ease her daughter into sharing.

“Oh,” Emma shifted slightly. “I, umm-- Well-- It was kinda--a lot? It was messy. I told you that I jumped around from foster home to foster home for awhile. Then the Nolan’s found me and they-- they, umm--”

Something was really wrong.

“Emma.” Angie lowered her voice. “I need you to be honest with me, okay? Did the Nolan’s hurt you?”

Emma’s resulting silence was enough of an answer, but when Emma eventually nodded, Angie felt like her blood was on fire. Her anger was near-blinding. 

“They-they called me things,” Emma whimpered. “A lot of things. They said my real parents didn’t want me, so I should be grateful that they came along and took me in, even though I’m awful.” She sniffled. “They’ve hit me, too…”

Angie practically yanked the girl into her arms after hearing that, but Emma didn’t seem to mind because she clung to her desperately. 

“Don’t make me go back there,” Emma pleaded weakly. “Please, Mama.”

“I won’t.” Angie assured her. “I promise I won’t.” She cupped the back of Emma’s head like she was trying to block out any more horrible things from entering her brain. “And if I have my way, those horrible people will never see you again.”

\---

Before Angie stormed the Nolan house, she had to be one hundred percent certain that Emma was her daughter (also partially because she had to tame that one doubtful part of her). So, she and Emma drove out to Indianapolis to get a maternity test done.

Three days later (Angie had been staying in Betsy’s house while also making arrangements to buy an apartment nearby), the results came in.

And Angie’s heart stopped.

**Maternity Test Certificate**

_By order of Angie Dickinson, we were requested to perform a maternity test. Following individuals were examined:_

_ROLE NAME DATE OF BIRTH_

_Alleged Mother Angie Dickinson 11/11/1975_

_Child Emma Nolan 06/23/2004_

_Regarding the sampling of the participants please refer to the protocols in copy._

_We received the originals of the identity confirmations and of the consent statements._

**Method:**

_DNA isolation was carried out separately for all samples. Genetic characteristics were determined by the following PCR-single-locus-technology analysis._

_Promega PowerPlex 21 (WEN ILS 500)_

_With the Promega PowerPlex 21 (WEN ILS 500) twenty-one (21) independent PCR-systems were analyzed: Amelogenin AM, D3S1358, D1S1656, D6S1043, D13S317, Penta E, D16S539, D18S51, D2S1338, CSF1PO, Penta D, TH01, vWA, D21S11, D7S820, D5S818, TPOX, D8S1179, D12S391, D19S433, FGA._

_In parallel, positive and negative controls were performed which gave the expected and correct results._

**Results:**

_The results of the analysis are shown in the following table:_

DNA-System DNA-Criteria DNA-Criteria

Angie Dickinson Emma Nolan

AM XX XX

D3S1358 14, 14 14, 18

D1S1656 16.3, 17.3 16.3, 17.3

D6S1043 11, 17 17, 17

D13S317 9, 12 9, 9

Penta E 10, 16 10, 16

D16S539 12, 12 12, 13

D18S51 12, 13 13, 14

D2S1338 23, 23 23, 24

CSF1PO 10, 11 9, 10

Penta D 9, 10 8, 9

TH01 6, 6 6, 7

vWA 15, 17 15, 18

D21S11 29, 30 29, 30

D7S820 8, 11 9, 11

D5S818 13, 14 13, 14

TPOX 9, 11 9, 11

D8S1179 13, 14 13, 14

D12S391 18, 18 18, 19

D19S433 13, 14 14, 15

FGA 18, 25 18, 19 

_In all analyzed PCR systems, Angie Dickinson does show the genetic markers which have to be present for the biological mother of Emma Nolan. The biostatistical analysis of the PCR system was performed according to the method of Essen-Moller. The probability of Ms. Angie Dickinson being the biological mother to Emma Nolan is >99.9999%. _

**Conclusion:**

_Based on our analysis, it is proven that Ms. Angie Dickinson is the biological mother to the child Emma Nolan._


	5. Mind Brand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie and Emma finally get their own apartment, but Emma has her doubts on things.

Sunlight was filtering in through soft grey curtains, bathing Angie in fresh morning rays. She could hear the faint sound of someone walking their dog outside and the birds singing, smell the scent of a new home, see an unfamiliar place that would soon be made familiar.

A smile broke out on her lips.

This was her home now.

So much had happened in the span of a short week. Shortly after getting the positive DNA results back (and showing Emma, who fainted), Angie began filing a court case to get custody of her daughter. It was a long, grueling process, as was actually attending the court hearing, but being able to rip the Nolan’s a new asshole was the highlight of the whole experience. But, even better than that: winning the case and having Emma leap into her arms, twirling her around, tears being shed against her shoulder as her daughter cried in joy.

Angie got an apartment after that. A two bedroom, two bathroom second-story flat for her and Emma. She also had to make arrangements to move all her belongings from New York to Indiana, which was a long process in and of itself, but the turnout, finally being able to sit down in the living room once everything was said and down, was amazing. 

They were a real family.

Angie flung her blankets off and climbed out of bed. She could hear the shower running in the other bathroom, meaning Emma was awake, and she couldn’t help but smile giddily at the thought of seeing her daughter in their own home.

But not everything was as happy as it seemed.

Inside the bathroom, it smelled like apples. Not the fresh, crisp kind from the ageing trees in the orchard, but the sweet, faintly chemical scent of apple flavoured products. It was the scent of bath bombs and body wash and, in this case, no tears baby shampoo.

Something that reminded Emma of other times.

She was five and she was a White.

Even at her age, she knew she wasn’t  _ really  _ one of the Whites, though. She was a  _ foster.  _ At the time, she hadn’t known what that word meant, except that it was a noun, like a girl or boy or dog, and that she wasn’t the only one in the house.

There was Amanda, a big girl with a big bag that she took to a place called School. There was Kyle, who liked Pokemon cards and holding the door shut on closets when she was inside, trapping her in. There was Jessie, a big-mouthed girl who was always loud. And there was Baby Max, who always seemed to want food.

Mrs. White told her that she had her since she was just one years old. She had asked where she came from- a stork like that one movie Jessie put on?- but Mrs. White pretended she didn’t hear her. She didn’t ask again.

People liked toddlers, apparently. Babies, too. That was why it was so easy for her to be picked up shortly after she was ‘given away’, as Kyle worded it. But people didn’t like all toddlers, apparently.

Because, suddenly, she was eight and she was a Randle.

The Randle's said she was cute, but strange. Three years in their home, and she was only known as Picky and Weird.

And she knew. She knew that. Knew that when she gagged and cried when having to swallow scratchy, dry burned toast it Ruined Things, when she tore off a new dress because made her skin prickle and burn it Ruined Things, when a hundred voices clamored in her ears at once and bright lights seared into her brain and she had to close her eyes and put her hands over her ears because it’s tooloudtooloudtooloudtooloud it Ruined Things. 

And she knew she was hard to handle, like a little hurricane that never seemed to leave a bay, constantly destroying things over and over again. She wasn’t a Bad Girl, the Randles said she wasn’t bad, she just didn’t Think. And she was something called ‘Clingy’ and people Didn’t Like That. 

The Randle's Didn’t Like That.

So, she was ten and she was a Wyant.

The Wyant’s boy, Chase, didn’t like her. They shared a birthday and he always stepped on her toes, always blew out the candles first so she never got her wish. He took her toys and hid her crayons and ripped pages out of her books. He broke everything she had, he broke Her, but the Wyants kept saying he wasn’t that bad,  _ he was just getting used to having to share our attention, Emma, that’s all. he’s not a bad boy.  _

But Emma was. A Bad Girl. 

Because she was eleven and she was a Sladek.

While driving to the house, her social worker assured her of her situation, saying again and again, “This will be the one, Emma, this will be the one.” 

But then she got there and it wasn’t The One. 

There was another boy there. Mason. He liked Emma. He tried to touch her a lot. The Sladek's said she was mature for her age, and their boy was probably why. She understood why he treated her the way he did quickly.

Her social worker was disappointed when she called six months after arriving, asking to leave. She said the Sladek's were nice, that she didn’t understand what went wrong, and Emma didn’t tell her what happened inside the house.

Then, she was thirteen and she was a Moore.

In the family that almost gave her everything.

The family that almost gave her everything. 

Mrs. Moore was so kind and so sweet. She treated Emma as if she were her biological daughter and not just a foster. Emma thought she was gonna adopt her.

In the end, though, she ruined it all.

But it wasn’t her fault! Not really, anyway… The baby was just crying so loud and Emma couldn’t handle the wailing anymore because the party had already been noisy enough. She hadn’t meant to lash out like she did, really!

Most of what happened was a blur, but she remembered all the screaming, the horrid, annoying shrieks of the baby, someone shoving her, the blood underneath her fingernails.

“Mom should lock you up for what you did,” One of her brothers at the time had told her, staring at her as if she were a demon loosed from hell, “She’s a lawyer. She can probably do that. You should be in an asylum.”

“You’re like a pit bull,” Another said. “Vicious and ugly! That should be your new name!”

Those words never left Emma. They taunted her constantly .

Soon, she was still thirteen and she was a Nolan.

They were nice at first, they were, but then people stopped paying attention to their act of charity from adopting a kid, especially a kid who attacked an infant, and they changed. 

They expected so much from her. She couldn’t live up to what they wanted. And that made them Mad.

Emma desperately roused herself from her reverie when she felt the lashing tongue of the belt across her shoulders and back, the sting of glass sneakily edging itself into her skin. She could see Daddy Nolan again, his daunting figure towering over her sixteen-year-old self like some sort of terrifying giant.

Her head snapped up and she lost her will to panic when she nearly slipped in the shower. It gave her a distraction, something to focus on aside from her past failures to have a real family. But, even then, one thought kept clawing to the front of her thoughts.

What makes this time different?

She hated it. She hated that she thought this way, but she knew it was true. 

Why would Angie be different?

Maybe she would never have a real family… 

“Emma! Breakfast!” Angie’s sweet voice called from outside the bathroom.

“Okay!” Emma called back.

She was sixteen and she was a Dickinson.

For better or for worse.


	6. Jitter Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Angie falls ill, it’s up to Emma to take care of her.   
> Emma’s awful anxiety stops her from doing so efficiently.

A hand shook Angie’s shoulder, commanding wakefulness through a haze of heat. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself--because she KNEW Liam would try and slither back into her life. Years ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her boyfriend crawling back to her after realizing all of his mistakes, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread and anger that fueled her nausea.

She didn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kissed her and told her how she was still beautiful, his body when he held her when chills wracked through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. Not after what he did. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and--

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Liam was not as small as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have birth blonde hair. 

“Emma?” She said--or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. Her sinuses were pressing in intensely. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” Her daughter on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to see if you were okay.”

“Oh.” Angie blinked. “That makes more sense than…” She shook her head and pain ricocheted through it.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, looking down at the floor. “I--”

“Shh,” Angie said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weakened body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Emma scramble to her feet in front of her.

“M-mom?” Emma stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Angie grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Emma grimaced. “Actually-- Can you hand me that trash can?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Emma’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Angie the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

\--

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Emma’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Angie being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of her mother--she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Emma blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and  _ smack! _ An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire apartment.

And throughout the entire apartment meant--

Emma jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she would deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door creaking open.

Emma squeaked again and stumbled out of the kitchen and towards Angie’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge her disoriented mother back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Angie’s voice was rough when she started asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine--everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now!” Emma yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so--”

Emma, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Angie responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Emma would write five-page apology notes to their neighbors later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Angie asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Emma felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Angie in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking--”

“ _ It _ is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the apartment in silence. Then, Angie sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “Forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Emma scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? With her mother no less? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Angie had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay Angie back for it somehow, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Angie must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her hair somehow got caught in the mixer later, she had her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove--

\--only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid goldfish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that was something she was able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Angie.

_ Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that. _

_ Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it. _

_ Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach. _

_ Hot porridge burns tongues. _

_ Cold porridge-- _

“Aaagh, shut up!” Emma cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she’d done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Emma,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to when you had to take care of yourself to be fed. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much cinnamon, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Angie even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

_ Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- _ Her mind screamed.  _ Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment. Angie is going to get rid of you once she realizes how useless you are.  _

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

_ Think about something. Calm yourself, damnit! Think about…rain!  _

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Emma jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door.

She tried to think about rain, hoping it could calm her, but the peaceful drizzle she wanted was actually a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There was a loud beep. It lanced through the cyclone and Emma’s eyes snapped open.

She was on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose to her feet slowly, feeling embarrassed.

_ Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic-- _ Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It was an effort that took a lot longer than it should have, but when she finished icing the cake, Emma had a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the pink frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Emma cut a generous sized piece for Angie, grabbed a fork and some medicine from a cabinet, and practically bounced to Angie’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw her mother’s form upon entering.

Angie was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She didn’t stir when Emma walked in.

“Mom?” Emma called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the trash can. She winced. “Mama?”

Angie’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Emma’s entire being. Her mother moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Mom?” Emma said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting Angie to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Angie’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, darling,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Emma blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Angie chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unsophisticated face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Emma. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Emma sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Emma nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Angie stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, honey,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Emma quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Angie, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Emma nearly glowed with satisfaction. Angie gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Angie said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Emma continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Angie had the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea…or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Emma didn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Angie stated. Emma nodded, about to respond when Angie continued, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Emma rather painfully, and in seconds the girl had apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Angie couldn’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Emma, who seemed to think that she had ruined everything-- “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Mom, I’m sorry--”

“Emma!”

Emma flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Emma.” Angie said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Emma’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “It’s okay, baby.”

Emma closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Angie’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works--for now. She opened her eyes again and Angie was smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

_ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, _ Emma imagined her thoughts crying.  _ You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest! _

Emma put  _ that _ into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Angie’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Emma? What if she wanted her to leave?

“It’s okay,” Angie murmured, caressing Emma’s cheek. Her shaking fingers pressed into the coolness of Emma’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

_ Raindrops, _ Emma told herself, and she shoved the Angie-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Angie said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she was still able to recognize the way Emma’s face would relax when she successfully blocked out her anxiety. “Good girl…”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Emma’s brain, but she could hardly care because Angie was tipping over and she had to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling her mother’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar Angie awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Mama?” Emma said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

“I’m alright,” Angie’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through Emma’s skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Emma’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Emma said distantly. “I’m…I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can because of her anxiety, but then she reached for the bottle she brought in with her.

_ Oh yeah, _ She thought.  _ How could I forget? Stupid. _

“What’s that?” Angie asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a mature adult.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Emma brandished the bottle, which was filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Angie squinted at it and curled her nose. “I found it in the medicine cabinet.”

“What is it exactly?” Angie asked.

“Something that will help you.” Emma informed. “I found some got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex--”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Emma’s cheeks and Angie chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Emma smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she was holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she wasn’t the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at her mom.

“You’re the caretaker.” Angie said.

Emma inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Angie. Her mom stared at it like it was poison. Emma giggled softly.

“Just…take it like a shot!” Emma encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Angie said, earning a ruffled look from Emma. She flashed a smile at the girl, then pinched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Emma dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Angie said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

It probably wasn’t good to take medicine on an empty stomach, but Angie still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Emma told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Emma was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Angie she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Angie recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Angie seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Angie being dead the next time she checked up on her; Angie being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Angie spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Emma accidentally overdosed her; the other actors looming over Emma, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Angie’s parents wailed over Angie’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Emma being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she didn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it was almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they'd drifted inside.

She took to cleaning out the trash can and then washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she could feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The grass below their balcony was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Emma walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline sent Emma careening across the apartment and to Angie’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Angie--

\--was perfectly safe in her bed?

Emma blinked. As much as she loved seeing that her mother was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Angie stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Emma fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway--she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming,  _ “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!” _

Alyssa had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

Tippy Toes, the six-toed, ragamuffin cat that she and Angie adopted two days ago, strolled by and meowed at Emma. She swore even HE was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying,  _ “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!” _

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04.

A whimper bubbled to Emma’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there were tears running down her cheeks and she didn’t really know why, but she did know that she hated them and they made her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Dee Dee.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

_ “Hello,” _ Dee Dee replied coolly. _ “I’m just calling to check up on Angie. She told us she was sick this morning. How is she?” _

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it was to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow actress.

“Okay,” Emma answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah-- she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

_ “I see.” _ Dee said. Then, she paused.  _ “Are you alright?” _

“I-I’m f- _ ine _ .” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She had the art of crying silently mastered, but she knew Dee Dee could still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the actress wasn’t saying anything made her feel even worse. 

_ “Listen to me,” _ Dee Dee spoke up. Her voice was firm and hard, but Emma swore she could hear softness seep through.  _ “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down. Remember that you are safe. Look around you.” _

Emma sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which were mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

_ “You’re okay. We’re okay. Angie is okay. That pile of fur you brought home is, regrettably, okay.” _

“Wh-why regrettably?” Emma stammered, sniffling.

_ “Ah, so you are listening.”  _ Dee Dee said. Emma thought she may be tipping her head.  _ “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Emma. You’re a very smart girl.” _

Emma closed her eyes, trying to breathe. It worked for a moment, maybe, but then her heart began hurting tremendously and-- oh my god, was she having a heart attack? Was that what this pain was? Was she going to die before she could make sure her mother recovered?

_ “--my voice.” _ Dee Dee was saying, a little more frantic. _ “Don’t let yourself fall in.” _

But it was too late. 

_ “Emma? Emma?” _ Dee Dee called loudly.  _ “Emma, are you there? What’s going on?” _

Emma didn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It was nearly two o’clock when Emma looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Angie, but she couldn’t bear to see her mother while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to her bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

_ Leaving her to suffer, _ Her mind hissed.  _ Good job. _

\---

“Alright, that’s it--”

Angie had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she was able to start walking.

Emma wasn’t anywhere in sight when she finally made it into the living room, but she could faintly hear her shower running. She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

In the bathroom, she heard the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Emma trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair was still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull hazel eyes.

“Hello, my love,” Angie cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her, but she’s been itching to hold her little girl in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Emma didn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Angie frowned. “Emma?”

Angie set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Emma had stopped in the living room. She was clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Emma,” Angie gently touched her shoulder, but even that was enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s your mom.”

Emma looked up at her with wide eyes and there was something worrying in her gaze.

“Emma,” Angie took her hands. “Darling. It’s okay.”

Emma’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Angie’s heart.

“I-I can’t--” Emma gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you-- You’re--sick-- not okay-- gonna d-die and leave me--”

Suddenly, it dawned on Angie.

“Oh, Emma,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped her daughter’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I’m gonna die, aren’t you? And you’re going to have to go into the foster care again?”

With a feeble whimper, Emma nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Angie guided Emma over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Emma clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever Angie. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Emma’s entire body was now wracked with weeping. Angie held her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Angie whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Emma, surprisingly, didn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Angie realized it was probably because she didn’t have the energy to.

Emma cried for a long time, and all Angie could do was hold her and wait until she was well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs did eventually die down, Emma was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Angie’s chest. 

As Angie gazed down at her daughter, she made an oath to whatever ethereal beings were listening: Emma was never going to have to go through the abuse she faced in the past ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, Angie


	7. Liar Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaylee asks Emma to go to a party with her.

When Emma was about to sit down in her second period Forensics class, Kaylee crashed into her, throwing her arms around her, and nearly knocking her over.

“Oof!” Emma grunted, stumbling. “Good morning to you, too.”

“There’s a party this evening,” Kaylee whispered to her as if this information was top secret. “One of the frats at a college is hosting it.”

“Ah.” Emma nodded, preparing to leave it at that, but Kaylee went on.

“We gotta go!”

“No way.” Emma immediately said.

“Come on, Em, you haven’t been to a single party before. You have to go at least once!” Kaylee said. 

“What about Shelby?”

“She’s busy, that bitch,” Kaylee pouted.

Emma laughed slightly. “Kaylee--”

“Please!” Kaylee was begging at this point. “Please, Em! I won’t leave you alone, I promise! And if it isn’t fun or if things go bad or you get uncomfortable, then we can leave immediately! I swear it!”

Emma looked at her friend, who was pleading like a puppy. She always had a hard time saying no to people…

She sighed.

“Fine.”

“YES!!” Kaylee threw her arms up into the air, then hugged Emma tightly, “Oh, thank you, Em! Thank you! You won’t regret this!”

Somehow, Emma thought she would.

\---

She expected it to play out like the same old story you read about or hear about on TV: Girl with a wild streak and some issues goes to her first illegal party, gets drunk, and winds up in bed with a guy who ditches her and posts pictures of them doing it on the school’s website. Girl is shattered, her reputation ruined and possibly ends up with a baby to sour the deal more.

So, Emma kept a sharp eye on Kaylee that night, to protect her from even the slightest chance of that happening. Sure, Kaylee was much bigger and tougher than her, but the issues could linger and Kaylee was awfully fascinated by the alcoholic drinks on display.

“Just one wine cooler, maybe two, if you insist on drinking underage,” Emma said, her eyes darting around everywhere. “Don’t drink the punch, keep an eye on your food and drink, don’t talk to anyone slurring--”

“Honey, you need to loosen up. The old Kaylee might have gotten herself into some deep crap, but the new Kaylee will be just fine. Trust me.”

“But--”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick by you the whole night. For your sake, of course.” Kaylee smiled at Emma, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. “Come on!”

Pushing their way through the dancing bodies, Kaylee and Emma ventured deeper into the party house. The smell of weed, alcohol, and mixed vapes was overbearing. A girl who was dressed in a lacy, but tight black dress pushed past Emma, her perfume almost gagging her when she pressed against her on accident. Stepping back, Emma dodged her friends as they hurried after her, calling out a mixture of profanities as they spilled their drinks. 

“Emma!” Someone yelled across the party. Emma whipped around, trying to pick out whoever called her name. Suddenly, a sort of-friend from Algebra II appeared at her elbow, shoving a drink into her hand. He smiled at her.

“I didn’t think you would come, girl, it’s cool that you did!”

Emma smiled awkwardly, wiping the sweat gathering on her brow. The house was twice the temperature as outside, the multiple hot bodies dancing around the small building only serving to amplify the humidity that built up. 

“I figured I better come at least once, or else you guys will never forgive me,” Emma said, dumping the cup into a nearby trashcan when the boy wasn’t looking.

“Do you wanna smoke?” Her kinda-friend asked, waggling a joint in front of her eyes.

“No, I’m- I’m okay.” She stammered.

“Come on!”

“No, really, I’m okay.”

Her kinda-friend frowned, taking a drag himself before speaking, “Whatever dude, if you hated pot smokers you should have said.”

Emma felt guilt build as she opened her mouth to explain, but instead her kinda-friend disappeared into the mass of dancing bodies. The music was turned up, causing the bass to thump loudly in her ears, and she completely missed Kaylee saying something to her, so the other teenager had to shake her elbow to get her attention.

“Do not smoke.” Kaylee said, as if she were Emma’s mom. Emma couldn’t help but smile at her sternness.

“Aye, aye.”

Kaylee smiled, then immediately whipped around afterwards, tugging excitedly on Emma’s arm. She points to a table that several people are gathered at.

“Let’s go take shots!”

Before she can even get three words out to deny the request, a glass full of a fizzing yellow liquid was shoved into her hands. She nearly dropped it in surprise, but managed to keep the cup from spilling its contents everywhere.

“You HAVE to try this!” A girl encouraged her. “It’ll loosen you up. It’s clear you need that to happen.” She laughed and winked.

Emma felt a hot coil of shame wind up in her gut. She really didn’t want to drink alcohol, but she didn’t want to be seen as a buzzkill, either, so she just downed the entire liquid without even thinking it through.

Whatever was in the glass seared its way down Emma’s throat like molten lava. It mixed like olive oil in water with the rest of her stomach contents, making it bubble in obvious disgust for the mixture. She hadn’t expected there to be so much or for it to be so spicy- it came out of her nose slightly, but she wiped away the streams from her nostrils before anyone could notice.

The girl genuinely looked impressed at what she had done, as did several of the others.

“Wow.” She said. “I thought for sure you were going to go flush it down the toilet or something!”

Emma forced a tight smile. “Haha…not me! I’m not like that at all!”

“Clearly!” The girl refilled her glass. “Maybe you will be a fun drunk! If so, I owe Chelsea dinner.”

“I told you!!” Another girl, Chelsea, shouted from across the table they were at.

Great. Bets were made on if she would drink and get drunk.

Several shots later, Emma was pleasantly buzzed, leaning towards drunk. Her system wasn’t used to processing alcohol- it made her a lightweight. She laughed at one of the girls as she started to hack at the burn of the alcohol, while Kaylee bounced at her side, still hanging onto her arm, this time with both hands, as she chortled.

And then, a voice spoke up.

“Emma?”

Emma, Kaylee, and a few others all looked to the side to see a young man with unruly brown hair and slanted amber eyes standing there. Emma vaguely recognized him as Jacob Moore…one of her old foster brothers.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Emma!” Jacob laughed, “Or should I say, Pit Bull?”

Emma’s blood ran cold. At her side, Kaylee’s brows knitted together in concern. Even when drunk, her friend realized that something was wrong here.

“Who are you?” Kaylee demanded.

“Jacob Moore,” Jacob answered openly. “Who are you? Someone new Emma has yet to attack?”

Rage flashed in Kaylee’s eyes. “Don’t you fucking talk about her like that.” She seethed.

Jacob was unfazed by her anger. “You don’t know, do you?” He tilted his head. “Your little friend here is a baby mauler. She scratched my little brother before like some sort of psycho.”

Emma leapt up and raced through the crowd of people. She heard yelling behind her- she thought it was Kaylee, but she didn’t stop to know for sure.

Tears flowed rapidly from Emma’s eyes as she shoved through all the people. Some stared at her in annoyance for being pushed, others were curious as to why she was crying, and a handful were genuinely concerned.

Cool night air stung against her burning skin, like dry ice on bare flesh.

Emma staggered out to the front of the frat house and found a spot between two cars at the far end of the parking lot that seemed to be secluded enough. She glanced around her for a moment and then doubled over.

Parts of her were screaming not to do this, to just wait and see if her stomach would settle, but that was silenced by a much louder voice yelling to get on with it. She obeyed, took a deep breath, and shoved her fingers down her throat.

The muscles in Emma’s neck contracted and tightened, trying to remove the things that were not supposed to be there. Her gag reflex kicked in to try and double the efforts. Bile soon forced its way up Emma’s esophagus, bubbling around her fingers and frothing at her lips. It dribbled down her chin, which was finally enough to make Emma rip her hand out of her mouth. She winced when her fingernails grated against the interior flesh of her throat.

Emma hunched over further, violently vomiting up the alcohol. The taste was horrifically bitter, which only seemed to make her throw up more until it wasn’t even the beverage coming up anymore.

Emma stayed put for a long time, even after she finished throwing up. She didn’t want to go back inside, so it looked like she had to walk home. 

It was going to be a long night.

———

Agony clawed her mind.

Emma awoke very slowly, immediately feeling the intense pounding in her skull and the roiling of her stomach when she moves. She couldn’t help but whimper at how terrible she felt and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain.

As if it were that easy.

Hangovers sucked.

A second whimper breached her lips and she tried to get up, but her arms were made of lead and she collapsed back down. The very short fall was like plummeting from a cliff to her alcohol-hazed mind and it felt as if she came crashing down onto thousands of jagged rocks that ripped her to shreds upon impact.

Something wet and scratchy pressed to her cheek, and it wasn’t a tear. It was much bigger than tears and left behind a slimy, slightly smelly residue against her hot, clammy skin.

“Tippy…?” She groaned.

The cat meowed softly and licked her again. There was something else besides his gentle feline noises- a voice.

“Emery!!”

Someone knelt besides her head. Their skin was a pale shade and their hands were gentle when they brushed her cheek, wiping away the saliva coating it. Emma leaned into the touch.

“M…Mama…”

“It’s me, my darling, it’s me. I’m right here.” Angie assured her.

“…D…don’t feel good…” Emma slurred. 

“You’re--” Angie’s brow twitched and she pursed her lips together. “Emma, are you  _ hungover _ ?”

Emma whimpered and flinched away, expecting a blow. God, how could she be so stupid? She drank underage and now Angie was going to kill her--or worse, kick her out and hate her forever.

“I’m sorry,” Emma squeaked. “I’m sorry, Miss Dickinson I’m sorry…!”

For a moment, Angie didn’t do anything. Then, she reached out a hand and brushed her over Emma’s heated face.

“Alright, my love,” He mother (not mother, not anymore--) said. “Can you stand? We need to get you to the bathroom.”

“I-I’d rather not,” Emma breathed, and Angie frowned.

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll be much more comfortable in your bed and cleaned up.” Angie brushed back some fringes of hair along Emma’s crown. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” She made her voice so velvety. “You can take a nice, warm shower and then lay in bed for the day. I can make your favorite tea.”

That did sound really, really nice…

Emma nodded and Angie smiled slightly.

“Wonderful.”

Standing took a lot of work- Emma’s legs didn’t work properly at first, nearly buckling beneath her weight, and even when she did manage to get up, her head seemed to be set on sending her to the ground as punishment for putting so much alcohol in her body. She then realized that she was in the dining room, where she must have passed out in last night.

“M-Mama--”

“I’ve got you,” Angie coiled an arm around Emma’s waist. “Steady… Lean on me, Emma. I won’t let you fall.”

That sentence sent flutters through Emma’s heart and she did as she was told, leaning heavily against Angie’s side. Her stomach then churned like a nest full of restless snakes.

“Mama--”

Before she could really warn her mother, she lurched forward to the toilet in her bathroom, a line of bile splattering from her lips.

Emma clutched tightly at her shuddering stomach as she coughed and heaved, sinking to her knees. 

“Oh, honey…” Angie murmured. “That’s it… Get it out. Just get it out.”

“I’m-- I’m sor-- I’m sorry--” Emma wheezed in between spats of vomit.

“Shh, shh,” Angie hushed her. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Somehow, Emma still thought she was.

After an agonizingly long minute of heaving, Emma finally finished. She struggled to breathe as Angie started the shower up.

“Do you think you can get in by yourself or do you need help?”

A fiery blush dusted Emma’s cheeks. Despite how disorientated she felt, she couldn’t bring herself to get Angie’s help for that, even if she was her mother.

“I-I’m okay,” She said softly.

“Alright. I’ll come check on you soon. Yell if you need anything.”

With that, Angie walked out.

Emma stayed rooted on the ground for a good five minutes, just trying to gather the strength to simply stand back up, but finally managed to get to her feet. She wobbled treacherously, but got enough balance to start undressing.

Peeling off her alcohol and weed-scented clothing and freeing her damp, sweaty skin to fresh air was a relief. What was even more of a relief was getting in the shower and washing her hair out, which was wet with vomit from when she had thrown up.

Emma stood under the scalding rain for a long time, taking deep, steady breaths through her nose. For a brief moment, she almost felt at peace.

But, like before, her stomach cramped and everything came rushing back.

Literally everything. The events from the night before, specifically Jacob, flooded her brain.

Emma’s whimper was blocked out by the sound of her knees hitting the bottom of the shower as she collapsed, shortly followed by the rest of her body. She was crying, but couldn't produce tears. She was far too dehydrated.

Delirium fogged her already muddled brain. Voices shrieked loudly in her mind. 

Emma pawed helplessly at the side of the tub, trying to get some kind of hold so she could push herself up, but her fingers slipped and she crumpled back down. Her head knocked against the floor when she slipped and the pain flared to the point where she nearly blacked out. Emma let out a soft cry as the pounding in her skull got much, much worse.

“Mom…”

Her call was much too soft. The spray of the spigot blocked it out.

“Mom…”

**_She doesn’t want you_ **

The voice sent ice through Emma’s veins.

**_She’s calling your social worker now, arranging to have you sent back to the pound you came from_ **

“Shut up,” Emma wept, then tried again, “Mom…!”

**_Why are you even trying? She isn’t going to save you. Just drown yourself now and do her a favor_ **

“Mama, please…” Emma sobbed.

**_Do it_ **

“Mama… Mommy…”

**_You want your Mommy? HA! How pathetic! You are pathetic. Angie doesn’t want you. She’s never wanted you. That’s why she gave you away. Her story about you being taken was a lie. She’s doing this out of pity. You’re just a worthless little waste of space that can’t do anything right. Why would she ever love that?_ **

That was all Emma heard, her cry dying on her lips. Her throbbing head lolled over so she was face- down in the sloshing water and she lapped desperately at the puddle that has accumulated around her fallen body. The water was dirty from sliding off of her sweaty skin, but she couldn’t care. She was too thirsty to care.

“Mommy…”

After her last vain effort, Emma’s eyes rolled to the back of her skull and everything went black.

\---

“Emma? It’s me. I’m coming in.”

There was no answer, but she just figured Emma didn’t hear her. She stepped inside and was immediately hit by a coconut-scented cloud of steam that almost choked her from how thick it was. She couldn’t help but shake her head fondly- Emma was always one to take way too hot showers.

“Emma, your clothes are on the counter.” She said.

No answer.

Surely Emma should have heard her.

“Emma?” Angie tried again.

Nothing.

“Emery?”

Angie stepped closer to the shower. She really didn’t want to invade Emma’s privacy, but she had to check on her.

“Emery, I’m giving you one more chance to answer before I open this curtain.” It came out a lot more harsh than she had intended, making Angie wince.

Emma did not answer.

Counting to three in her head, Angie pulled the shower curtain aside just enough to peer inside and, for the second time that day, cried out her daughter’s name.

“Emery!!”

Emma was crumpled on the floor of the shower, curled into a tight ball and shaking, despite the scalding hot water the spigot was spitting down onto her bare body. She wasn’t responding at all.

Angie rushed to turn off the shower and then made sure Emma was still breathing (her face had been slightly dipped in the water, after all). After confirming that she was alive, Angie grabbed a towel and threw it down over Emma. She knew the girl would probably panic if she was caught handling her while naked.

Carefully, with her eyes shut, Angie lifted Emma limp body out of the tub and set her on the soft white shower carpet. She felt her forehead, finding it warm, but bearing no real fever. Emma must have fainted from her hangover, then.

What the hell did she drink at that party?

Angie took the fluffy bathrobe off of the hook on the wall and managed to get it onto Emma’s trembling body. She tied the laces together just as the girl below her moans softly.

“Emery?”

Another soft moan.

“Emery, honey, can you hear me? It’s your mom. You’re okay.”

Emma’s hazel eyes fluttered open. Angie smiled softly and brushed her cheek with a finger.

“There’s my sweet girl.” Angie cooed.

Emma blinked blearily up at her, looking so much younger in that moment. Her features contorted after a moment as she registered her headache and grimaced, whimpering softly.

“Shh, shh,” Angie hushed her, stroking her forehead. “It’s alright, my darling… You passed out. Do you remember?”

Emma nodded slowly.

“M-my head…” She croaked. Her voice grated her throat and she winced. The taste of bile was still on her tongue, too. “H-hurts… Mama…”

Angie quickly grabbed the glass of water sitting by the fresh clothes and brought it to Emma’s lips after propping the girl up. She resisted for a moment, whining softly, but then Angie said, “It’s just water, honey. You must be so thirsty.”

She really, really was.

Emma immediately began to drink after hearing that, desperate for the liquid. The water cooled her throat and washed down the acidic taste of bile, but landed heavily in her cramped stomach. After drinking it all, she pulled her neck back, panting heavily. Her head slumped against Angie’s shoulder.

“My poor girl,” Angie murmured, reaching around to rub the side of Emma’s head. She couldn’t help but smile lovingly when the girl clung tightly to her other arm. “I’m right here, sweetie. You’re going to be just fine.”

“N-never gonna drink again,” Emma mumbled, making Angie laugh softly.

“I think that’s a good idea. Especially since you’re underage.” She agreed. “How does laying down in my bed sound?”

“Good.” Emma said.

“Alright. Let’s get you up- hold onto me, darling.”

With minimal difficulty, Emma was able to get up and change into the soft pajamas Angie had got for her. Her head was still pounding unmercifully, but she endured it long enough to stagger to her mother’s room and collapse into bed, where she promptly bundled up beneath the blankets.

“Mama?” 

Angie looked down at her daughter. “Yes, my love?”

“Are you going to give me away?”

Angie’s eyes widened for a moment before she understood. “Oh, Emma, no,” She cupped Emma’s cheeks. “I would never. Especially over something so miniscule.”

“B-but I drank underage…”

“Oh, posh,” Angie said dismissively. “You don’t think I didn’t do the same?”

Emma’s hazy eyes bulged. “Really?”

“Really.” Angie nodded with a chuckle. “I actually broke into my parent's liquor cabinet. I don’t know why I expected not to get caught.”

Emma giggled softly. “Wow…”

“Yeah.” Angie laughed. She got into the bed next to Emma, and her daughter curled into her side like a baby koala clinging to its mom. “I’m not going to give you away, Emma. Not ever. You’re mine and mine alone. And I’m never going to let you go ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angie really do be jynxing things big time


	8. Click Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma comes down with something nasty.

There was a dull ache in Emma’s right side.

Although it was very much annoying, she didn’t really think much of it. After all, it wasn’t a terrible pain, only sharpening its edges on her lower stomach when she would breathe in deeply. She just shrugged it off as ovulation or even soreness, as Trent’s theater classes could sometimes get very wild.

However, by the time lunch rolled around, she stared down at her macaroni and cheese mixed with cubes of ham with distaste. Apparently it was visible, because Shelby and Kaylee called her out on it from across the table.

“Do the noodles owe you money or something?” Kaylee joked before taking a bite out of her pear.

“No,” Emma said, slightly ruffled. “I don’t know how you eat those things. They’re way too soft. Makes my mouth feel weird.”

Kaylee laughed, while Shelby hissed at her to shut her mouth before she sprayed pear chunks all over them.

“Not hungry?” Shelby asked.

“Not really,” Emma answered. “I feel kinda bad for wasting money on lunch, though.”

“I’ll eat it,” Kayle said, and Emma slid over her styrofoam tray.

“Are you feeling alright?” Shelby tilted her head. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Emma said. “It’s probably just ovulation or something.”

“You don’t ovulate yet, though.” Shelby pointed out.

“How do you know my cycle…?”

“Not the point here!” Shelby said. “You should go home if you’re not feeling well.”

“You know damn well that the nurse will probably just give me some Sprite and crackers.” Emma shot back.

“...Fair.”

“Free Sprite, though!” Kaylee piped back up. 

The three of them laughed.

Emma considered the idea of going home, but dismissed it. She didn’t want to bother Angie, as her mom had finally gotten a job (she ran a dance studio she named Antelope Legs) and she wouldn’t want her to be pulled away from it already.

But just a single period after lunch, the dull cramps in her lower stomach had become violent spasms and the slight aching in her back turned into an intense, radiating burn. She was both sick with hunger and too nauseous to eat the granola bar she put in her bag two days ago. Her bladder and bowels ached. She was sweating from the pain of it all, but also shivering and weak from anemia. 

Only then did she decide to go to the nurse and request to drive herself home.

\---

When Angie got the alerts that Emma wasn’t present for her last two class periods, she was concerned. Emma wasn’t one to skin school.

Even more worrying, Emma didn’t answer her phone when she called and texted her, which was enough to make Angie’s heart start racing in a panic. What happened to her little girl? Was she okay? Where was she? Why wasn’t she at school?

Had she been taken again…?

Angie called the school and asked in her calmest voice about the whereabouts of her daughter, to which they said she had left because she wasn’t feeling well. That extinguished the flame of panic inside of her, only to relight it with another, one of motherly concern. Emma was sick?

She just barely managed to stay at work, closing up for the day at around 5:30. It was a painfully long time to be away from her daughter when she was unwell, but she had to stick around and finish doing her job if she wanted to be paid.

Upon arriving home, the first thing Angie did was rush to Emma’s room, sure enough finding her in her bed, curled up into a tiny ball. When Angie entered, Emma looked up and squinted.

“Mom,” She croaked weakly.

“Oh, honey. Are you sick?” Angie asked, already knowing the answer.

“My stomach just hurts, that’s all,” Emma answered, clearly watering down her symptoms so she wouldn’t be a burden.

Angie felt Emma’s forehead and frowned. “You’re a little warm,” She said. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

Emma gave a small shrug. “I dunno… I don’t think so.” She sat up, wincing slightly. “I think I’ll be okay, though.”

“Are you sure?” Angie asked.

Emma giggled softly. “Yes, Mom. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, silly girl,” Angie said. “Now, what would you like for dinner?”

Emma joined Angie in the kitchen to make a lasagna dinner. However, Angie noticed Emma touching her stomach as if it badly hurt more and more as the minutes passed by. She even started to double over and hunch against the counter.

“Emma?” Angie called. Her daughter’s face was worryingly pale. “Are you alright, sweetie?”

“M-my stomach…” Emma whispered. “I-I’m gonna lay down until the food is done.”

Angie nodded and watched her hobble over to the couch to lay down. Her worry was starting to peak.

After putting the tray of lasagna in the oven, Angie sat down next to Emma. Her daughter instantly scooted closer to rest her head on her lap. Angie smiled down at her.

Some time passed. As Angie was watching a home improvement show on TV, Emma stirred, her breath coming in labored gasps. She curled around Angie with a moan, a hand grasping at her pants with desperate claws.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Angie assured her, smoothing down Emma’s hair.

Heat was beginning to radiate off of Emma in a worrying amount. Angie felt her forehead again, and it was much hotter than it had been before. She frowned.

“How are you feeling now, my love?” Angie asked softly.

“Hurts,” Emma replied in a soft moan.

“I know, I know,” Angie murmured. With the edge of her sleeve, she dabbed at Emma’s temples, pushing wet strands of hair off her forehead. Her fever had definitely gone up.

“S-stomach…” Emma moaned. She rolled over onto her back, panting like a tired dog as she flopped out uncomfortably. Sweat dripped down her face, and Angie swept some streams away before they could get into her eyes.

“Do you want me to get the heating pad?” Angie asked.

“Mhm…” Emma nodded weakly.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Angie kissed her forehead before slowly standing up, tucking a pillow underneath Emma’s head before walking to the cabinet in the entrance hallway. It was such a short time away, but it was enough for her to be gone when Emma started to retch.

Angie jumped, yanking down several boxes full of stored junk in the process when she tried to pull the heating pad out. She attempted to stuff it all back inside, but gave up and ran back to the living room with the pad tucked under her arm.

On the couch, her lap soaked in her own vomit, Emma looked up at her with fear and pain in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks. She whimpered.

“I-I’m sorry!” Emma cried. “I-I didn’t mean to, I-I didn’t mean to…!”

To her credit, Emma had managed to twist around so she mainly threw up on her legs and the floor instead of the couch. But she still looked absolutely mortified over it anyway.

“P-please don’t hurt me, I-I didn’t mean to…” 

Angie’s heart ached. Emma was scarred so badly from her past homes that she thought she would be punished for every little thing. It made Angie furious to think anyone would do such a thing to her little girl.

“Shh, shh,” Angie shushed her daughter’s fearful babbling. She set the heating pad aside and fetched a rag from the kitchen. “You’re alright, darling. This isn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“Hush.” Angie said. “You’re sick, honey. You can’t control when you have to throw up.”

Emma slowly turned her head to look at Angie. Even when there were trails of vomit dribbling down either side of her mouth, Angie still smiled so gently at her. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Can you stand?”

Angie took one of Enma’s hands in her own. She let the girl try to get up by herself, but it was obvious she’s struggling, so Angie stepped in and helped her to her feet. She felt Emma cringe when the pool of throw up that had been congealing in her lap spilled down her legs and to her floor.

“Shh,” Angie hushed her when she heard a sharp whimper. “It’s not your fault, darling. Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s go get you in the shower.”

Although she didn’t like leaving the ill girl by herself, Angie understood why Emma didn’t want her in the bathroom while she was bathing. While she waited for her daughter, she busied herself by cleaning up the mess left behind.

Angie was no stranger to vomit. After being in show biz for twenty years, she had seen her fair share of stage fright sicknesses and ill actors who thought they were okay enough to perform, and then probably puke in the opening number. It didn’t bother her anymore. The smell, the sound, the sight- none of it phased her. She could eat a whole feast while someone was emptying their stomachs in front of her and be just fine.

And yet she was afraid of the deep sea of all things.

Oh well. At least she wasn’t scared of moths like Trent was.

After cleaning up the living room, Angie set up her bed and the heating pad for Emma. By then, it had been almost half an hour and Emma still wasn’t out yet. She was beginning to get worried. 

Angie rapped her knuckles quietly on the bathroom door. When no noise but the steady rush of falling water met her, she began to turn back, but halted at the sound of a low, muffled sob. She pressed her ear against the door and called out softly, “Emma? Is everything alright in there?”

Upon receiving no response, she tested the handle, drew out the apartment’s master key, and quietly opened the door.

At first, glancing hastily around the room, she saw nothing particularly out of place. But then her eyes fell upon the huddled figure in the open shower, and, with a low gasp, she took a hurried step forward to find her daughter barely conscious on the floor, slightly murky water congealing around her head.

“Oh dear,” Angie said. She quickly turned off the shower, snatched up a towel, and fell down her knees beside the tub. She placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, shaking her lightly. Her efforts were awarded with a soft moan.

“Emma? Wake up, honey. You can’t sleep here.”

Another moan, this time more strangled.

Glistening, dark hazel doe eyes peered up at Angie. The fluorescent lights overhead caught them in just the right way to make the irises shimmer in varying hues of brown and green and only proceeded to bring out the youth her young daughter held, as well as her vulnerability. She almost looked like a little fawn that lost its herd.

“Can you sit up?” Angie asked softly. She was afraid of hurting Emma’s ears if she spoke too loudly. 

Emma didn’t react for a moment, then pushed herself into a sitting position. She was swaying slightly, eyes glazing over. Angie felt her forehead and found that it was burning hot.

“Oh dear…” Angie murmured again, this time much more stricken and alarmed. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re on fire.”

Emma didn’t react. Her head tilted back slightly to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. Then, her entire body cringed and she hugged her stomach with a low, strangled moan. Angie watched in horror as she hunched forward to press her forehead to the rim of the bathtub, moaning again. She sounded almost like a dying animal, and that  _ terrified  _ Angie.

“Mama…” Emma croaked.

“I’m here, baby,” Angie said, rubbing her hand down Emma’s slick back. She couldn’t tell if that was water or sweat she was touching.

“It hurts… Mama, it  _ hurts… _ ” Emma looked up at Angie, tears in her eyes. “Make it stop…  _ Please, make it stop… _ ”

“I will, Emma.” Angie assured her. “I’m going to go get you some fresh clothes, alright? Then you can lay in my bed with the heating pad.”

Emma nodded and brought her head back down to the rim. Perhaps she thought it felt nice and cool against her burning forehead.

Angie wasn’t even gone for a minute- she feared Emma somehow hurting herself when she was away. It was a natural motherly instinct that came about in the face of her baby’s distress.

She returned to the bathroom and had to help dry Emma off and then get into her clothes. It was difficult, as Emma cried out at almost every movement that was made, but she cooperated obediently despite the pain.

“Emma? Emma, honey, can you hear me?” Angie gave Emma’s flushed cheek a light pat to rouse her. It actually got Emma to blink and focus on her with those pretty eyes of hers. “There you are.” She smiled softly. “Alright, I need you to listen to me, okay? I’m going to pick you up and bring you back to the bedroom.”

Emma blinked very slowly, almost like a cat. Angie took it as enough of an agreement, so she scooped the girl up and carefully brought her back into the bedroom.

Emma was set on the bed, let out a soft whine when the heating pad was placed on the right side of her belly. Her eyes were screwed shut, sweat already pooling on her face. Angie retrieved a wet rag from the kitchen to wipe her brow down with. 

“Mama…” Emma whispered hoarsely.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Angie assured her.

Emma was shaking again but somehow it felt different. These were shakes caused by weak sobs.

“Oh, Emma…”

Angie climbed into the bed next to her daughter, letting her curl into her side like a kitten seeking warmth from its mother. She spoke in shushes to her, trying her best to console her. Emma clung loosely to her shirt, tears soaking through her clothing when she buried her face against her stomach. Angie pulled the blankets back around her and held her, trying to quiet her.

“Mama…it hurts…”

“I know,” Angie said, “but it’ll be over soon. Just rest.”

She rubbed Emma’s back, and Emma leaned into her touch, head heavy against her stomach. Emma coughed a few times, throat probably feeling sore and abused, ending abruptly with a gag against her arm.

“You should try to drink some of this water.” Angie glanced at the water bottle she had placed on the nightstand. “Here. Come on, sit up a little. It will help. I promise.”

A rather long and pathetic groan was the only response she would get. Angie covered her fingers in the wetness of the rag and touched them to Emma’s lips. Emma let out a breathy sigh. Angie’s touch had to have felt like melting ice. When she withdrew, she sucked at the moisture.

“You must be thirsty. Just a little. Please?”

Slowly, Emma pushed herself up and Angie reached over and brought the water bottle to her lips. Emma began to talk small sips.

“A little more, that’s it.” Angie said encouragingly. “Good girl.”

Coolness spread through Emma’s chest as she swallowed, soothing her throat, but ending heavily in the pit of an empty stomach. The first sip brought the realization of thirst and soon Emma was scrambling to gulp down as much water as possible. Angie eventually pulled the water bottle away when she felt she’d had enough.

Emma gasped, her thirst overpowering the need to breathe. Her eyes were open now and, for a moment, Angie thought she saw recognition in them. She blinked up at her.

“If you keep that down you can have more,” Angie said.

Emma’s gaze drifted to the water bottle and back to Angie, the edges of her blurring into the dark. Her awareness was phasing in and out, the air in the room pulsing like static. She slumped back down into Angie’s lap, still panting.

“That’s it,” Angie murmured, threading her fingers through Emma’s hair. “Just rest, darling.”

“Mommy…” Emma mumbled.

“Shh,” Angie stopped her blubbering. “Shh. Don’t speak, sweetheart. Just rest.”

Emma shook her head. When she looked up at Angie, her eyes were glazed and unfocused.

“It hurts so much, Mama…” She whimpered.

“Where does it hurt?” Angie asked.

Emma didn’t answer immediately, instead hissing air in through her teeth.

“L-lower stomach,” She stammered, clearly shy about this. “…And my back.”

Angie nodded and carefully placed a hand on her daughter’s lower stomach.

“Here?”

Emma nodded. She gasped softly when Angie began to rub her stomach in slow, tentative circular motions, but then eased up beneath her touch.

“Does this help?” Angie asked.

“Yes,” Emma said softly, “A lot.” She sighed quietly, relaxing as Angie massaged her abdomen gently, moving in careful circles against her skin.

After a few minutes, Emma’s breathing no longer hiccuped, and her arms weren’t squeezed at her front anymore. Angie’s fingers were still soothing the cramps as best as they could. She’d always been affectionate with her daughter, but she’d never done anything like this before. However, she assumed she was on the right track, as Emma seemed about ready to fall asleep against her, with her hands working easy patterns on her body. She couldn’t help but chuckle lovingly and use her other hand to stroke back sweaty hair from Emma’s face.

Angie began to sing softly. It was a lullaby she used to sing to Emma when she was a little baby. And it seemed to still be effective, as Emma was starting to doze off more and more.

“I love you, Mama…”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.”

——

Sometime later, after Emma had fallen asleep, Angie got up to take the lasagna out. It was a little burnt from her neglecting the alarm, but she was sure it would taste fine. Not that Emma’s stomach would probably be able to hold it. 

After pacing the kitchen about a hundred times, Angie retrieved a thermometer from the medicine cabinet and checked Emma’s temperature.

102°.

“Shit,” Angie muttered, running her fingers through her hair. She looked down at her daughter, who was taking shallow, but shuddering breaths. Swat continued to drip down her face no matter how many times she wiped it down.

_ If it goes up anymore, I’ll take her to the hospital.  _ Angie told herself. She sat down on the edge of the bed, resettling the heating pad back on Emma’s stomach. Upon the heated contact, Emma stirred with a tiny whine.

“Hey, baby,” Angie murmured. She leaned down to kiss Emma’s hot forehead. “How’s my sweet girl doing?”

“Mmmm…” Emma merely replied. She lolled her head across the pillow. “Sleepy…”

“Then sleep some more,” Angie said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Emma slurred, her eyes half-lidded like she didn’t have the energy to open them completely. “I love you, Mama…”

“I love you too, Emma.” Angie said. “Get some more rest. You’ll feel better soon.”

But, just like before, just like all those other times, Angie  _ lied _ .

——

“Mama… Mama, wake up… Mama…”

Angie jolted awake. She could feel hands shaking her, nails digging in through her shirt like desperate claws.

“Mommy…”

She jerked up. Quickly, she reached over and turned on the lamp, illuminating Emma’s pale white, sweaty, agony-twisted face.

“Emma?” Angie said in alarm.

“Something is wrong, Mama. Something is  _ wrong _ .” Emma sobbed. Both of her arms were around her stomach and she kept writhing in the bed like a stabbed snake. 

“What is it, Emma?” Angie cupped her face and,  _ god _ , it was burning hot. 

“Hurts!” Emma cried, making Angie jump. “I-it hurts! Mama, it HURTS! Make it stop! Please make it stop!”

For a moment, Angie was petrified. Then, she was lifting Emma’s shirt, expecting to see swollen, infected flesh, but it looked perfectly normal.

“Mama!” Emma sobbed again. “Mama, Mama…”

“I’m here, baby,” Angie cupped her cheek with one hand and kneaded her aching stomach with the other, but the contact made Emma scream out in pain. Angie ripped her hand back, wide-eyed. 

“Hurts, it hurts, it hurts…” Emma moaned, tears spilling down her face.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Angie asked.

Emma nodded fervently. “Please, please, please, please…”

Without a second thought, Angie ran out of the bedroom, swiping her car keys and purse, then sprinted back in to grab Emma. Her daughter was soaked in sweat and shaking badly, but what was worse, she screamed in pain when she was picked up.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Angie said. “It’s going to be okay.”

The ride to the hospital felt impossibly long. Angie worried that Emma was going to die at any moment, so her constant whimpering was actually quite welcoming. 

Upon arriving at the hospital and the prognosis was made, Angie’s heart dropped into her stomach.

Appendicitis. 

Emma had fucking appendicitis.

Her baby had appendicitis and she didn’t know and Emma could have  _ died _ .

All because of her stupidity.

After Emma was rushed into surgery, Angie stepped out of the hospital and cried. She sobbed into her hands so much that it hurt, but it was what she deserved. She knew the pain in her lungs and throat could not equal to the pain her precious baby girl had been in for hours.

Angie wasn’t sure how long she stood there, sobbing until she couldn’t breathe, but headlights eventually pulled up into the ER parking lot. It was two in the damn morning, so she wasn’t sure who else would be there unless it was an emergency, but then she saw someone familiar step out of the car.

That’s right. She had texted Dee Dee right before she had her breakdown.

“Is she alright?” Was the first thing Dee Dee asked. And then she saw Angie’s blotchy face and added, “Are YOU alright?”

“I’m fine.” Angie said roughly. “And Emma is, too. She’s in surgery right now. The doctors said it was an easy fix.”

“Great! That’s great!” Dee Dee in relief. “But why are you crying?”

“Because I—” Angie’s voice broke. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what was wrong and she couldn’t have  _ died _ !”

“But she didn’t.”

“But she could have!”

“But she didn’t.” Dee Dee repeated firmly. She grabbed Angie by the arms and squeezed her. “Listen to me, Angie. You are a  _ good mom. _ You are a really,  _ really _ good mom. Nothing is going to change that.”

Angie whimpered and Dee Dee gently brushed a few more stray tears away.

“It’s okay that you didn’t know. You don’t have to know everything. What matters is that Emma is going to me okay. Do you hear me?”

“Y-yeah,” Angie whispered. 

“Good girl.” Dee Dee smiled. “Now, let’s go in there and wait for your girl. I didn’t wake up and drive over here for nothing.”

——

“Hey, sweet girl,” Angie cooed while entering the hospital room an hour and a half later with Dee Dee at her side. They both smiled and chuckled in amusement when they saw Emma perk up from where she’s situated in the white bed.

“Mama!” Emma cried in joy. Her arms go out and she does adorable little grabby hands, which was enough to draw Angie and Dee Dee over to the bedside. She leaned into Angie’s touch when she stroked her hair.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Angie asked.

“Great!” Emma shouted. “I can’t feel a THING!”

“Shh,” Angie hushed her while Dee Dee laughed. She couldn’t help but giggle softly at how adorable her daughter was being. “Be quiet, darling.”

“Oh, am I being loud?” Emma asked, to which Angie and Dee Dee both nodded. She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Sorry. I’ll be more quiet. I didn’t realize- Hey, Wait. Don’t stop.” She grabbed Angie’s hand and set it back on her head. “Thank you!” She mused in a singsong voice when Angie continued to stroke her hair.

Angie and Dee Dee were both laughing at the girl’s comments. It was relieving, given that just two hours earlier Emma had been wailing in agony.

Emma yawned cutely, blinking like a sleepy little fawn. Then, she whipped her head around and looked at Angie and Dee Dee. She squinted at them.

“Who are you people?” She asked.

“I’m your mother, Emma.” Angie reminded. 

Emma gasped. She looked at Dee Dee. “Are you her girlfriend? No wait— Her WIFE! Hey, hey, I’m gay, too!!”

Dee Dee laughed loudly. “No! No, Angie and I are NOT together!”

“Ohhh,” Emma nodded. She looked at Angie. “Wait, so you are my mom?”

Angie nodded. Emma’s eyes welled up with tears and she began to cry.

“Oh my god, oh my god— I have a mom! I have a mom! You are so pretty… What did I do to deserve such a gorgeous mother?” She wept, holding out her shaking hands to touch Angie’s hair and face as she and Dee Dee laughed.

“You’re adorable.” Angie cooed, tapping her on the nose. Emma latched to her hand and nuzzled it against her cheek like a kitten.

A few moments later, a nurse entered and Emma snapped to attention.

“Hey, honey,” The nurse greeted.

“How’s it goin’?” Emma asked, loopy, but cheerful.

“I heard you were having a good time.” The nurse said, smiling at Angie and Dee Dee.

“Uh-huh!” Emma nodded, “It’s goin’ great!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Emma said, “Show me your tits!”

Dee Dee burst into loud laughter at that, completely collapsing against Angie and howling into her neck and shoulder. The other woman wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist to support her, also giggling, as was the nurse.

“Emma—” Angie managed to say through splutters, “That’s—” Dee snorted, which nearly threw Angie off entirely. “That’s not something we say, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emma said genuinely, “You gotta excuse me, miss. I’m gay and very sleepy and I love my mom a lot, so I’m a little overwhelmed by emotions. I’m sure your tits look just as nice as her, though.”

“Emma-!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part is a reference to an actual video of a guy on anesthesia!


End file.
